Angel
by Kaslyna
Summary: My very first M story, using Sarah McLachlan's "Angel". DRR after finding Luke's body. Warning: angsty, dark, rough, and smutty. Please read & review! :D


**A/N: Just a little idea. Spoilers for 'Empedocles' and 'Release'. DRR.**

**Disclaimer: The X-Files belongs to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. I own zilch. Angel belongs to Sarah McLachlan and Netwerk Records. Again, I own nothing. :/**

_Spend all your time waiting _

_For that one second chance _

_For the break that would make it okay _

_There's always one reason_

_To feel not good enough_

_And it's hard at the end of the day_

_I need some distraction _

_Oh beautiful release_

_Memory seeps from my veins_

_Let me be empty_

_And weightless and maybe _

_I'll find some peace tonight_

"I'm sorry," she whispers, softly. What more can she say? There's nothing else.

Emptiness, pain.

These days, that's how she knows she's alive.

"I'm sorry, too," he whispers, hugging her. Clinging to her warmth, her youth and her innocence selfishly saved.

She pulls away and looks at his face.

_In the arms of the angel _

_Fly away from here _

_From this dark cold hotel room_

_And the endlessness that you fear _

_You are pulled from the wreckage _

_Of your silent reverie _

_You're in the arms of the angel_

_May you find some comfort here_

He used to never cry. Yet now his eyes are brimming with tears. His face is red and swollen. And he's crying, saltwater mixing into the dirt and grime on his face. She studies him hesitantly for a moment. She's crying, too. Of course she is.

He's known her for five days. It feels like five millenniums. Already he knows that she's the kind of person who will cry for someone she barely knows, whom she's never met. Already he knows she's caring and lovely inside.

Her thumb swipes away the tears as they are shed onto his cheeks. Then he's sobbing in her arms and she's holding him awkwardly, sobbing, too, mumbling hushed words of comfort.

Eventually he picks his head up. Slowly, but surely, not really caring about the consequences, he leans down, giving her space and time to move if she wishes. But she doesn't. She meets him halfway.

She tastes faintly of coffee, peppermint, cigarettes, and a little bit like the flowery perfume she wears.

_So tired of this straight life _

_And everywhere you turn _

_There's vultures and thieves at your back _

_And the storm keeps on twisting _

_You keep on building the lie _

_That you make up for all that you lack _

_It don't make no difference _

_Escaping one last time _

_It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh _

_This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees_

He bites her lip and she yelps. Her blood mixes with their tears and saliva, creating an unusually erotic pool in their mouths as their tongues tango.

John pushes her down onto the bed. Hard. Rips off her shirt, buttons popping as she splays out for him. He yanks off her bra. There's nothing tender or sweet or kind or intimate.

It's sex. It's pure, raw, unbridled need for some primal urgency.

His lips are on each nipple. Teasing, tasting, licking, and even biting, until she is crying out his name and begging and her hands are tangled wildly in his hair.

She tears off his shirt. Claws at his back till he bleeds. He continues kissing, licking, teasing, taunting, and biting her entire body. Sucking at the bruises till she knows she'll have a mark there tomorrow.

As he unsnaps the button on her jeans their eyes meet. They speak for the first time coherently.

"Need you inside of me, John. All of you. Let me help. Let me comfort you. Let me heal you."

_In the arms of the angel _

_Fly away from here _

_From this dark cold hotel room _

_And the endlessness that you fear _

_You are pulled from the wreckage_

_Of your silent reverie _

She tugs off his jeans. Throws them across the room. He rips off her panties with a ferocious, primal growl from somewhere deep inside of him, deep below the anguish and the fear and the pain and the rage, in the beautiful, beautiful man he once was, and still is.

She uses her feet to pull off his boxers. Blood and tears and sweat and pain all mix as he hovers over her, completely exposed. He thrusts into her. Monica gasps and shudders, arching up involuntarily as she lets out a little girly moan. John grins and pins her hands behind her head, thrusting, thrusting. He lets go of her hands and she claws her nails down his back, marking him with her teeth as well. Monica wraps her legs around John's waist and he thrusts harder and faster. She moans and yells and begs and pleads and writhes beneath him, until she comes with a cry of, "John!"

A few thrusts later and he's coming, too, spilling himself wholly inside of her, shuddering as the hot substance leaves his body and enters hers.

They lay like that, panting, for awhile, then he collapses into her arms, head on her breasts, and sobs uncontrollably. She rests her chin on top of his head, running her hands gently down his body, from his hair to his lower back, murmuring soothing words of comfort, until he's sound asleep with his face burrowed in her bosom. She sighs and looks outside, at the hazy moon.

Then she, too, cries herself to sleep.

_You're in the arms of the angel _

_May you find some comfort here _

_You're in the arms of the angel _

_May you find some comfort here_


End file.
